


Dearest, Darling, Dead

by Dearly_Divided



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Brotherly Bonding, Eleanor Rook - OC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, No Fluff, all aboard the pain train, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22317907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearly_Divided/pseuds/Dearly_Divided
Summary: Two days it had taken for the message to reach him out in the wilderness of the Whitetail Mountains. Rook - Eleanor - his sister in law, gunned down at the hands of the Resistance she’d once protected.He didn’t begrudge John his rage or his devastation, but he wasn’t about to let him waste away in it.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Comments: 37
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance.

The lights were off when Jacob’s jeep pulled up out the front of the Seed Ranch. For a moment he just sat there, his eyes fixed on the open window of his little brother’s bedroom, the curtains billowing out into the cool night breeze. He sighed, leaning over onto the steering wheel; he knew that John was home.

According to the men stationed on the grounds, John had kicked them out from the Ranch, locked the door behind them and retreated to his bedroom. He hadn’t left for three days.

Three whole days.

Jacob had never been scared of John or his temper, but as he watched a dark shadow flicker past the window, he realised that he was scared of what he’d find when he came face to face with his little brother. When Joseph had found John at his lowest, Jacob had been busy freezing his ass off at the homeless shelter in Rome. He wasn’t there to witness John at rock bottom, hadn’t had to stand helplessly by and watch as he purged himself of the drugs and alcohol as he begged Joseph not to leave him again.

Hearing Joseph tell it had been painful enough.

Every day that he’d been gone, the guilt of leaving his brothers had weighed down on his shoulders, a constant reminder of his failure to protect them, to look after them. He’d never been one to shed a tear, (their father had beat that out of him _very_ early on) but hearing Joseph describe the desperate, broken state he’d been in - Jacob hadn’t slept that night, just sat hunched over in his bed and _sobbed_.

Jacob would’ve done anything to save John from that pain again. He would have done _anything_ not to have to see him like that, but he didn’t think twice when Joseph asked him to bring John back to the compound to be with his family - he would have gone regardless.

He’d let him down before, he sure as fuck wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Come hell or high water, he’d be right by John’s side. Joseph’s too.

But fuck, he was the last person equipped to deal with shit like this. John needed _Rook_. He’d never seen anyone, Joseph included, handle John like she did. Jacob would have loved her for that alone - the ease with which she could calm him, the sheer joy and delight her presence seemed to bring him. He almost smiled at the thought of it, but that tiny flicker of happiness died, snuffed out by the cold reminder of why he was there. 

“Bring him home, Jacob,” Joseph had murmured, grief, raw and palpable, echoing in his voice as he met his brother’s stare. “He shouldn’t be alone.”

None of them had been there when the soldier delivered John the news. He’d heard about the aftermath - John barricading himself inside the Ranch, not even Joseph’s pleading at the front door enough to move him. God only knew what happened to the soldier; the unfortunate bearer of bad news. Whatever John did to him, whatever punishment he let his men dole out, it wouldn’t be enough. He was alive, and Eleanor was dead. 

It was hardly a fair trade.

Two days it had taken for the message to reach him out in the wilderness of the Whitetail Mountains. Rook - Eleanor - his sister in law, _gunned down_ at the hands of the Resistance she’d once protected. He didn’t begrudge John his rage or his devastation, but he wasn’t about to let him waste away in it. 

Jacob took one last deep, steadying breath before he climbed out of the Jeep, shutting the door behind him. He locked eyes with one of the soldiers that patrolled as he passed, giving him a brief nod of acknowledgement.

Wisely, the soldier kept his mouth shut.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he strode up to the front door, his face set in a scowl - the last thing he wanted was the heartfelt _platitudes_ from John’s faithful. 

They’d lost their symbol, the wife of their beloved Herald. He’d lost someone he loved - his sister, one of the few people in this world he actually gave a damn about. 

It wasn’t the same fucking thing. 

Jacob was no stranger to losing people, but Eleanor was different. Her death was fresh - a painful wound that ached anew each morning, but he didn’t have time to dwell on his own grief, not when John needed him. There would be time later to mourn for her.

The front door of the Ranch was locked, but Jacob expected that. It didn’t make a huge amount of difference - he, Joseph, Faith and a few of the higher ranking Chosen had keys. Up until then it had simply been fear of inciting John’s wrath paired with Joseph’s desire to give him space to grieve that had kept them at bay.

Jacob would have broken down that damned door if he’d had to, but the key slid into the lock and with a soft click the old wooden door gave way, swinging open with an echoing creak.

Jacob swallowed, licking his lips as he crossed the threshold.

He expected chaos; overturned furniture and broken glass - evidence of John’s rage, but the living room was eerily untouched. John’s favourite coat was tossed carelessly over the back of a chair, two mugs sat empty on the coffee table next to a book, old, worn and clearly loved. In the kitchen two plates were piled up next to the sink, a vase of flowers wilting on the bench. 

Roses; Eleanor’s favourite.

Something sharp tugged painfully in his chest, but Jacob pressed on.

He didn’t bother calling out as he walked up the stairs, his hand trailing up the wooden bannister. His footsteps echoed as he strode down the long hallway to the master bedroom. There was no light that shone from the crack under the closed door, not a peep of sound that echoed out. 

If it weren’t for the glimpse he’d seen at the window, Jacob might have feared the worst.

The door wasn’t locked, but he hesitated nonetheless as his fingers wound around the ornate brass doorknob. He took a deep, steadying breath in, exhaling as he let his head fall against the wood. 

“John,” he called out quietly. “I know you’re in there.”

Silence. 

Jacob’s eyes squeezed shut. 

“John-”

“Go away.”

A little of the tension in Jacob’s shoulders eased at the response - despite the biting and terse tone, talking was a good sign. “You know I can’t do that.” He paused a moment, but was once again met with empty silence. “I’m coming in.”

He didn’t wait to give his little brother a chance to reply, twisting the handle and yanking the door open. 

John and Eleanor’s bedroom, like the rest of the house, was dark, only illuminated by the soft beams of moonlight streaming in through the window. Immediately, Jacob’s eyes sought out his brother - and found him sitting on the edge of the massive bed, glaring balefully up at him.

But it wasn’t the seething disdain burning in John’s eyes that made his breath catch, it was the state of him. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red, his hair, usually slicked back, falling limply across his face. His beard was unkempt and tear tracks, still fresh and glinting silver in the moonlight, ran down his cheeks.

Jacob wasn’t so naive to think they’d stop any time soon.

His clothes were rumpled - his shirt torn open and hanging loose over his chest. Jacob’s fists tightened and his jaw clenched as he spotted the blood - droplets staining the blue silk, dried streaks painted across his sallow skin. His knuckles were bloodied, a quick glance across the room at the shattered mirror on the nightstand providing insight into how _that_ had happened, but it was the sin carved fresh into his chest that made Jacob’s heart constrict.

John had _punished_ himself for losing her.

“What,” John began slowly, his voice cracked and raw but biting nonetheless, “do you want, Jacob?”

Jacob wasn’t exactly the most talkative guy around, but it wasn’t often that found himself entirely lost for words. 

He’d seen John’s outbursts, had witnessed the blind fury and madness that overtook his little brother when things didn’t go his way. He’d seen John scared and lost, held his brother as he’d shaken with the force of his tears, clinging onto Jacob like he was a lifeline. 

This was worse. 

_This was horrifying_.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, surging forward and gripping John’s shoulder. “What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

John barely flinched, just met Jacob’s panicked stare with cold, vacant eyes, “She’s gone, Jake, what does it matter?”

“And you think she’d be okay with this? You hurting yourself?! Have you eaten, John? Or slept for that matter?!” he growled.

It was the wrong thing to say.

A bitter snarl twisted John’s face as he ripped his shoulder from his brother’s grip, jerking to his feet and stumbling away from him. 

“My wife is DEAD!” he howled, tears pooling in those baby blue eyes of his. “They fucking - they fucking shot her! Eleanor, she-I should have protected her.” He took a shuddering breath in, “I-I was supposed to protect her.”

_That made two of them._

John fell back to the bed, burying his face in his hands as a fit of sobs burst free.

“They took her body, Jacob! It wasn’t enough to just kill her, they-they-” but he broke off, the words dying in his throat as he shook.

Jacob opened his mouth, desperately searching for the right words to say to comfort him… but there was nothing. 

Nothing he could say that would make this better.

Nothing he could offer John to ease the pain.

In all his years, Jacob had never felt so entirely useless. He did the only thing that came naturally - he eased himself down onto the bed beside John, slung an arm around his trembling shoulders and pulled him close. This time John didn’t fight him, and Jacob let out a shuddering breath as his brother burrowed into his side, his tattooed fingers clutching at his old, ratty military jacket.

“She was supposed to be safe.”

Jacob’s throat tightened, tears pricking uncomfortably in the corners of his eyes, but still he didn’t speak.

“I love her, Jacob, I-I loved her more than I thought it was possible to love somebody…” he broke off with another wail. “She was supposed to be my happy ever after. All that pain and all that suffering - it would have been worth it because I had _her_!”

Another wave of pain and guilt tore through Jacob, but he only clutched John tighter.

John shook his head, his hands tightening into fists, “They took her from me. Those fucking _heathens_ \- they murdered her,” he seethed. Suddenly he pulled back, looking Jacob in the eye. Unbridled fury, savage and hateful, burned in those blue depths as he took a deep, trembling breath, “I want to hurt them, Jake. I want them to _suffer_ … I want them to beg for their lives with my hands around their throats. I want them to _pay_ for taking her from me.” 

For a moment the only sound in the room was John’s ragged breathing as Jacob’s eyes flickered across his face. Slowly he reached out with his free hand, grasping the back of John’s neck. His eyes fluttered shut as he pulled him in close, resting his forehead against John’s. “They will, I promise you.”

John just shuddered, collapsing back against his side.

They stayed like that for a long time, neither one willing to move. John’s wounds needed to be cleaned and bandaged, he needed a shower and he definitely needed food and a few solid hours of sleep, but none of that seemed to matter to Jacob as his little brother clung to his side and wept. 

“I miss her, Jacob,” he murmured after a while, all that fire and rage sapped right out of him, leaving nothing but hollow, agonising grief in its stead. “I miss her so much.”

“Yeah.” A single tear slipped down Jacob’s cheek, “Me too.”

***

Only a few miles away from John’s Ranch, Nick Rye wiped the sweat from his brow with an old rag. He exhaled, whistling as he stared up at his plane with a satisfied smile. For near on three days now he’d thrown himself into repairs - fixing the kinks and damage those fuckin’ peggies had done to his pride and joy. Ever since Rook had gotten his Carmina back he’d been tinkering but he hadn’t had the chance to really get his hands dirty, ‘specially with his baby girl coming early and everything else pretty much going to hell in a hand basket. Nick might have loved his plane, but he had his priorities: his precious baby girl and Kim were number one, staying alive was number two and fixing up Carmina came after that.

There hadn’t been a huge amount of free time after the first two, but after everything that went down - well nobody asked questions when he retreated to his hangar and lost himself in the work. Everybody had their processes and all that. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Kim was secretly glad that he was out of the house and out of her hair. She had enough on her plate without him hovering over her shoulder like an overgrown bat.

No, it was better for everyone if he was out in his hanger, working on his pride and joy.

His hands were streaked with grease and despite the cold night air his shirt was tied around his waist, his bare chest glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. She wasn’t exactly done, but she was a hell of a lot better than she had been, he might even be able to give her a test run -

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps pulled him out of his head and sharply back to the present, and he turned to the sight of his wife racing down the porch steps towards the runway.

“Nick!” Kim yelled.

Time slowed down.

His stomach dropped, the spanner he’d been using slipping from his numb fingers and hitting the ground with an echoing clang.

“NICK!”

He swallowed, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs and it took him another moment to realise that he should be _moving_. Shaking himself back into action he started to run, vaulting over his toolbox and racing across the runway. 

Kim met him halfway, the two colliding as Nick threw himself at his wife - arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight, making sure she was _safe_.

“What? What is it?! Is Carmina-” he couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

Kim shook her head, pulling back just enough to meet Nick’s panicked gaze. “No. No she’s fine, Nick. It’s not her, it’s-” she cut herself off with a breathless laugh, a smile, tired and tinged with worry but elated all the same breaking across her face. She reached up, one hand cupping her husband’s cheek, stroking it softly. “Baby, she’s awake.”

For a split second Nick Rye stood on the runway, his mouth gaping, his pulse racing, utterly frozen.

And then, like a bag of bricks falling from the sky, it hit him.

She was awake.

That was all it took - Nick felt all the strength leave him. As tears flooded his eyes he sagged against Kim, clutching onto her like she was a lifeline.

“Thank fuckin’ Christ,” he whispered.

Rook was awake… and shit was about to get real fuckin’ dicey.


	2. Chapter 2

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“John,” Joseph began in a gentle voice, “you can’t ignore this. It’s her funeral, you should be there.”

Blue eyes flickered up to meet his gaze, but otherwise John showed no signs that he’d heard his brother speak at all. 

Sitting stiffly in the old, worn down table in Joseph’s living room, his fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, John looked like a zombie. The tears had long since stopped flowing, but his face was still pale and gaunt, his eyes still rimmed in red. Jacob might have forced him in the shower, dressed his wounds, given him fresh clothes to change into, but it hardly seemed to have made a difference. 

Grief was taking its toll.

He’d never lost anybody before, well, nobody he cared enough about to feel much sadness about. He’d been too young when they ripped him from his brothers, and he hadn’t exactly shed a tear when his parents had finally had the decency to die. 

This was agony, a pain he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried. It felt like part of him was gone - the edges a gaping wound, jagged and bleeding, ugly and raw. It hung over his head like a storm cloud, tugging painfully at his heart every time he saw something that reminded him of her - the rosebush she’d planted outside Joseph’s home, the french coffee press she’d left at Joseph’s _in case of an emergency_ , the stiff family portrait hanging on the wall that she’d playfully teased him about a few weeks before.

And it was stupid beyond belief, but every time he heard footsteps approaching there was some tiny part of him that hoped…

But Eleanor wasn’t going to walk through that door. She wasn’t going to sweep John into her arms and kiss away the hurt. 

Had he told her that he loved her when she left that morning? Was it awful that he didn’t remember the last words he spoke to her?

“Why? It’s not like there’s a body for us to bury,” he muttered quietly. 

Joseph sighed wearily, “You’ll regret it if you don’t. This is your chance to say goodbye, to mourn for her, celebrate her life. She deserves that much, doesn’t she?”

John snorted, his eyes narrowing into a glare, “Don’t talk to me about what she deserves, Joseph. I can mourn my wife just fine without turning her death into a circus parade.”

“I lost my wife too, John. I know you’re in pain, I know how it tears at you-” he tried to say, but John had had enough.

With a growl he swept his arm across the table, sending his mug of coffee careening into the wall where it shattered on impact. “And when she died did they tell you how to grieve, the proper way to farewell the love of your life - the one who was gunned down in broad daylight by cowardly fucking heathens?!”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“You aren’t the only one who lost her, John!” Joseph exploded, his chest rising and falling with the force of his harsh pants. “You aren’t the only one allowed to mourn!”

John just snorted, shaking his head. “You think I give a flying fuck about your faithful? You want to put on a show for them - let them cry and whimper and sob as if they had any goddamn clue who she really was? As if they actually cared about her at all! Fine. Go right ahead, but don’t expect me to sit there and play along!”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. John didn’t look up as Joseph walked towards him, barely flinched as he felt his brother’s hand grip his shoulder. 

“I wasn’t talking about them,” he said quietly. “Eleanor was my sister, John. Do you think Jacob isn’t in pain? Do you think I am immune to the grief you’re feeling? She was our family.”

There was a long silence, before finally, John sighed. 

“Fine,” he said, letting his eyes fall shut. “I’ll go.”

***

Eleanor had died once before.

Seven years old, waves crashing overhead as she desperately tried to kick free of the current that dragged her down. She remembered the panic, the disorientation, the burning shock of her lungs forcing seawater down her throat - so desperate for air. Her body had been on fire, every cell in her body screaming for oxygen… and then as her vision started to fade so too did the pain. She was weightless and the darkness that beckoned felt so comforting, so easy… 

Later, lying in the stiff, uncomfortable hospital bed, the doctors told her that technically speaking, she’d died on that beach - it was a miracle that they’d been able to resuscitate her at all. 

Dying from a bullet felt different. 

The pain was different, but that weightlessness, that warm, welcoming darkness - she remembered that all too well. 

Clawing her way through the grass, ignoring the searing pain, she fought against it. As the blood loss made her head spin, every muscle movement bringing a fresh wave of blinding agony, she fought against it.

Eleanor didn’t want to die, not there, lying in some fucking field far away from the people she loved - so she fought with every last breath she had, until her body gave up and crumpled into the dirt and that darkness swallowed her whole. 

Waking up, on the other hand, was an entirely different experience. She wasn’t choking on sea water, spluttering on the sandy shores with twenty people gawking at her while paramedics rushed to make sure that she could breathe. No, this time Eleanor came to slowly. The pain came first; not the sharp, burning of the bullets, but a dull ache that ebbed and flowed in waves. Her eyes were too heavy to open, but she heard voices - soft and familiar - speaking quietly around her; Nick and Kim.

Despite the pain, that at least gave her some small comfort.

“Hey,” Kim murmured, and Eleanor felt a hand come to rest on top of hers. “Take it easy, Rook. You’ve been hurt badly, don’t push yourself.”

With a great deal of effort, she managed to crack an eyelid open, wincing as the sudden burst of light hit her retinas. 

“How’re you feelin’?” Nick asked as the soft blue walls of the room slowly swam into focus.

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” she groaned.

Sitting in the seat next to her bed, looking utterly exhausted and emotionally drained, Nick made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again!” he muttered, his voice thick and trembling. Eleanor had the feeling that if she wasn’t wrapped in bandages, bruised, battered and a little short of blood, Nick would have thrown his arms around her in a bear hug. “You are not allowed to die, y’hear me?”

Her lips twitched upwards into a semblance of a smile, “I’ll try not to.”

“It was touch and go there for a little while, we weren’t sure if you were gonna pull through,” Kim added, bouncing a sleeping Carmina in her lap. “Should’ve known better, you’re one hell of a fighter - always have been.”

“Doesn’t exactly feel like it right now,” Eleanor said with a dry laugh, wincing as the movement sent another stab of pain shooting through her. “I feel like shit,” she croaked.

With a pointed elbow in his side, courtesy of his wife, Nick quickly passed Eleanor the glass of water they’d left on the bedside table. 

“It’s not surprising. You did take three bullets, hun,” Kim replied.

Three bullets. One in her hip, one grazing her thigh and one in her gut - she was lucky to be alive. “How did you-?”

“Find you?” Nick interjected, “Sheer dumb fuckin’ luck. I was doing a supply run in Carmina, flew right overhead when you guys were getting hammered. By the time I’d swung around and landed,” he shrugged, “the Resistance were gone, your Peggie friends were dead and you were hanging on by a thread.”

It was way he said it, the soft sneer he wasn’t quite able to keep off his face at the mention of her guards. The atmosphere in the room shifted, a tension - thick and palpable - descending around them.

The elephant they’d all been dancing around had finally made its presence known.

As if sensing the unease in the room, Carmina - sleeping curled against her mother’s chest - blinked her eyes open, gurgling as she shifted. Kim smiled down at her daughter before shooting Nick and Eleanor a sheepish look. “I should get this little one fed or she’ll get cranky pretty quick,” she said as she stood, “Besides… I think you two need to talk.”

She gave Eleanor one last glance, her face entirely unreadable, before she swept from the room, taking her squirming daughter with her. 

“You wanna tell me when you started fightin’ our people alongside the Peggies?” he asked, suddenly rounding on her. “I knew you’d swapped sides Rook, but I didn’t realise that meant you’d be out there all guns blazing!”

She knew he’d be mad, she knew that he had every right to be, but knowing that didn’t stop the flash of anger that jolted through her. “I wasn’t fighting anybody, it wasn’t supposed to be a fight at all-”

“So you were just taking a leisurely stroll through the Valley with a bunch of armed Chosen at your side and managed to land yourself in a fuckin’ firefight?”

She shook her head with a huff, taking a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It wasn’t a firefight Nick, it was an ambush. I didn’t even see them until they’d cut down two of my- the Chosen,” she hastily corrected.

Nick scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Well you might have forgotten, hiding away in your fuckin’ Ranch playing happy families and all, but we’re still out here fighting for our lives! We gotta defend ourselves!”

Eleanor grit her teeth, “I’m not stupid Nick, but we weren’t a threat-”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure your Peggie guards are real goddamned friendly!” he snapped, cutting her off.

“ _I_ am not a threat, Nick! I want this fighting over, it’s all I’ve ever wanted! I’m trying to help and your friends are out there trying to put a bullet in my head to send a message!”

He snorted, shaking his head. “They don’t see it like that.”

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

“And what,” Eleanor began, her voice deceptively calm, “is that supposed to mean? That I deserved this?”

“You turned your back on us, what the hell did you think was going to happen?!” he yelled, throwing his arms up in the air. “You can’t suddenly drop off the face of the earth and show up months later married to a psychopath and expect everyone to just accept it. What the hell happened, Rook?!”

The words, while nothing she didn’t expect, still managed to hurt - a sharp knife driven ruthlessly between her ribs.

“I was alone, Nick! I had nobody and nothing, I wasn’t fucking superwoman - I’m sorry!”

Nick turned to gape at her, eyes blazing, “Are you fu- Bullshit! You had me!”

“And you’d just had a baby! What was I supposed to do? If you got hurt, if anything happened to you - I…” she broke off, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. She took a deep breath, wincing at the pain, and shook her head resolutely. “They needed you more than I did. They still do.”

For a moment, Nick was silent, but Eleanor could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the subtle clenching of his jaw. He was still pissed, no matter how right she was.

“And Sharky? Hurk? Grace? How ‘bout Addie? Or Jess, or fuckin’-”

Eleanor gritted her teeth, “I get it, Nick! But I-” she cut herself off with a frustrated growl. “I was fucking it up and I was going to get them killed. I can’t-” she took another deep, shuddering breath, fighting back on the onslaught of tears that threatened to spill. “I couldn’t lose them too. I couldn’t stand by and watch my friends get hurt just because I had a huge target on my back.”

“So what, it was all fine and dandy if you died so long as you didn’t take any of us with you?!”

Eleanor’s silence hung heavy in the air.

“Jesus fuck, Rook,” Nick breathed. 

She couldn’t bear to meet his probing gaze, choosing instead to stare resolutely at the ceiling and blink back her tears. Her breath caught when Nick’s warm hand slipped into hers, squeezing gently. “You really love him, huh?”

Eleanor turned to give him a rueful smile, “I didn’t plan for this, Nick,” she said, shaking her head, “But yeah, I really love him.” 

Nick sighed, muttering something she somehow doubted was a prayer under his breath as his eyes rolled shut. “You got any idea what they’ve been doing to folks like us the past few days? They’ve never been the kumbaya singing type, but Jesus - they’re not taking people anymore, Rook, they’re outright fuckin’ killing ‘em. Especially Resistance.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and Eleanor felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. It was punishment - he didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. 

“I’m not getting anywhere near those damned Peggies without getting a bullet between my eyes for my troubles.”

Eleanor gritted her teeth, biting back a wince as she tried in vain to shift herself upright. “So let me go alone,” she replied.

Nick scoffed, “Not a chance in hell. In case you need a reminder Rook, you’ve spent the last three days trying not to bleed out in my spare bedroom because somebody tried to kill you! One, you’re not in any kind of condition to move,” he gave her a pointed stare, “and two, once people start realising that you’re alive, you can bet your ass they’re gonna try again!”

Eleanor sighed, falling back against the plush pillows. “I just want to go home, Nick.” _Back to my family_. “I’ll crawl back if I have to.”

“I’m pretty sure we still have that wheelchair from the hospital stashed somewhere ‘round here,” Kim said, appearing in the doorway with a wry smile. “You’re welcome to give it a roll.”

Nick muttered something under his breath as the corner of Eleanor’s lips twitched upwards in amusement. “You’re not as funny as you think you are,” he grumbled.

“It was a little funny,” she replied, taking the other seat next to the bed. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Rook, it’s just his way of showing he cares. We almost lost you, we’re not exactly keen on sending you back out there to be used as target practice a second time.”

Eleanor’s smile faded, “He thinks I’m dead, Kim… I-I can’t stay here.”

Already, she felt that phantom ache in her heart, the longing for her husband. She could only imagine the kind of hell that John and the others were going through, all while she laid in that bed, injured but alive.

But Kim reached across to rest her hand on Eleanor’s knee, a small smile on her face, “I didn’t say you had to. God knows I haven’t forgotten how stubborn you can be, especially when it’s .” She laughed, reaching into her pocket to pull something out, holding it out so that Eleanor could see. 

It was a radio - Eleanor’s old radio.

“So I’m suggesting an alternative. Call them, tell them you’re alive, we’ll figure out somewhere safe we can smuggle you out to and they can meet us halfway. The last thing we want is a swarm of angry Peggies kicking down our front door,” she said with a laugh, only half joking.

Eleanor’s eyes widened, her heart racing as she took the offered radio, her eyes flickering from the device to Nick and Kim, the former of whom was still chewing on his bottom lip, clearly unhappy with the situation.

“We’ll uh, we’ll give you some privacy,” Kim said after a tense moment, taking Nick’s hand and practically dragging him from the room, easing the door shut behind them.

It was only when the sound of their footsteps faded that Eleanor allowed herself to breathe a sigh, cradling the radio against her chest as she let her eyes flutter shut - just for a moment. With trembling fingers she flicked it on, searching for the private frequency she prayed was still working. 

***

John hated them. 

Once upon a time, he might have felt something for his brother’s followers - maybe not the love that Joseph professed, but a certain sense of responsibility over them… a selfish pride at the results of his diligent work.

But as he watched them, sitting in the pews of the church, crying crocodile tears into each other’s arms as Joseph spoke, John felt nothing but bile twisting in his stomach. He could count on his fingers how many loyal Peggies he allowed close enough to form any kind of bond with his wife - two of them died with her, one _should_ have - and had paid dearly for it. 

The others… their grief was nothing but an act to impress their beloved Father - they didn’t truly care about Eleanor. One word from Joseph, from Jacob, fuck, from him and they would have turned on her like rabid dogs. He’d watched them do it too, with all the Faith’s that had come before Rachel. They’d professed their utter love and devotion; Selena hadn’t even been cold in the ground before they’d forgotten her very existence. Their grief was self serving and shallow and it made him _sick_ , but even that John could try to forgive.

Joseph was right, in the end; John wasn’t the only one who lost her. 

Jacob, standing grey faced and stoic in the corner, his arms folded across his chest, scowling at anybody who dared to make eye contact.

Faith, standing by Joseph’s side with her hand in his, her head bowed to hide the tears that streamed down her face.

And Joseph - the tremble in his voice as he spoke about Eleanor and the gaping ache in his chest that her death had left. There was anger too, burning in those blue depths. Unlike his siblings, he made no attempt to hide his sorrow - his grief was raw, palpable, and it made John realise how selfish he’d been.

There might not have been a body to bury, but his family would mourn her regardless. This was theirs, _his_ , and those fucking Peggies had no right to be there for it. 

And yet all he could think of as he stood there, listening to Joseph deliver his eulogy, was that this was all _wrong_. She would have hated it. It should have been just the four of them, somewhere outside - somewhere beautiful. 

Eleanor deserved that.

She deserved a hell of a lot more than she got.

Joseph’s voice washed over him like waves breaking on the shore. He supposed it didn’t really matter what his brother was saying - something touching no doubt. Something to bring them together, to remind them all of their collective loss and what they were fighting for, what the Resistance was trying to _take_ from them. He’d speak about Eleanor’s virtues, the good she’d done for the Project and the love and compassion that she’d shared with them all. He’d talk about the difficult and trying path that had led her to them, to John - she was a shining example of all they were trying to prove, her death - her murder - serving as a cold reminder of the wrath and violence that their enemies revelled in.

And it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t important. 

That wasn’t to say that John wasn’t angry at the Resistance - no, his fury bubbled and seethed under the surface baying for blood with every beat of his heart. He’d mourn for his wife, and then he’d make sure that everyone who ever hurt her suffered _tenfold_ for it.

But Joseph’s eulogy wasn’t the one that Eleanor deserved. His older brother wouldn’t talk about the Sunday night family dinners she’d insisted upon, the fierce bond and inside jokes she shared with Jacob, the tentative friendship she’d built with Faith, the countless afternoons that John had come home to find her singing as she baked in his kitchen, smiling so sweetly up at him as he walked in the door … Joseph wouldn’t mention the nights Eleanor had come to his door for help and advice and how _many_ of those nights had ended with her falling asleep on Joseph’s couch in the early hours of the morning, a blanket draped over her to keep her warm.

He wouldn’t speak of her smile, her laugh, her atrocious yet endearing sense of humour. He wouldn’t utter a word about her heart, the endless love she had to share and her almost infuriating ability to see the good in people. 

This wasn’t the place for that, not with these strangers sitting amongst the pews. Eleanor was far better than any of them, himself included, deserved and she was _gone_.

No words, no matter how heartfelt or true, would make that any better. 

So he stood, staring blank faced into a crowd of liars and sycophants, as if his entire world hadn’t gone up in flames the very moment his wife had died. As if every breath he drew didn’t bring with it a fresh wave of pain, crippling him from the inside out. What little good had been left in him, and God knew there wasn’t much, Eleanor had taken with her.

He’d been promised a future - a long, happy life with his wife and family by his side in the new Eden, and that future had been ripped out of his grasp. Was he supposed to be merciful? Did they expect his kindness and compassion after they murdered her?

Every hurt that had ever been inflicted on him, every loss, every downward spiral had been made worth it when he fell for Eleanor. She was his silver lining, his redemption. He’d never felt happier than when he was in her arms, never more comfortable in his skin than when she was curled against him. He’d never felt peace like it. 

He’d suffer for a thousand lifetimes if he knew that she was waiting for him at the end of it. 

And they’d murdered her in cold blood.

John was not going to be merciful.

He was not going to be kind.

His future was in tatters, there was nothing good waiting for him past those gates. If he couldn’t have the love and happiness he’d fought for, then John would revel in hatred and violence. He’d cleanse Hope County of every filthy, wretched sinner with his bare hands if he had to.

He barely noticed the muted squawking of Jacob’s radio over the sound of a rising hymn in the church - he certainly wasn’t paying enough attention to see Jacob’s eyes momentarily widen before his brows furrowed, shooting John an unreadable glance from across the room. With a few words muttered down the radio in response, Jacob stalked from the church, two of his Chosen hot on his heels.

John couldn’t find it in himself to care.

***

“Sorry!” Nick called out as Kim’s truck rolled over yet another pothole. In an attempt to avoid being spotted by both Peggies and Resistance alike, he’d tried to take the ‘off road shortcut’ - a monumentally bad idea considering that Hope County’s main roads were bad to begin with, and the dirt tracks Nick was driving along were infinitely worse. 

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t trying to be careful, but with each jostle of the truck bed, Eleanor had to bite her lip to stop herself from yelping. They’d been driving for almost twenty minutes and she was almost positive that at least one of her stitches had already torn, but she forced herself to keep quiet, to focus on seeing John again and not the burning pain in her abdomen.

Soon.

They’d be there soon.

Thankfully, it was only a few short minutes later when Eleanor felt the truck pull to a stop. 

Nobody spoke as Nick came around to help her out of the backseat, Kim walking ahead to get the door and make sure that the coast was clear. Still, his eyes widened into saucers when he caught sight of the blood seeping through her shirt. 

Before he could even open his mouth, Eleanor shook her head, “It’s fine,” she whispered. “I can manage.”

She knew him well enough to recognise the battle going on behind his eyes, but he closed his mouth with a sigh, letting her loop her arm around his neck and lean her weight against him as they shuffled up the path.

“There, sit her down - gently Nick!” Kim said, guiding them towards the old, worn leather couch. 

Nick huffed, “I am bein’ gentle!”

A few seconds of careful manoeuvring later and Rook was sitting, sprawled out across the seat, resting against the arm of the chair with a few pillows to help prop her up. 

“Well, it ain’t perfect but it’ll do,” he sighed. 

For a moment, nobody said a word, but they were all thinking the same thing. Neither Nick nor Kim wanted to leave her like that - injured and vulnerable, but they didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, not if they didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it all. They had to go, and the sooner the better.

Kim, of course, was the first one to break the silence. 

“I’ll meet you in the car,” she said to her husband before turning back to Eleanor. “Please be careful,” she whispered, bending over to wrap Eleanor up in a lingering hug.

“I will.”

She spared them both one parting glance before she turned and walked away, shutting the door gently behind her.

There were a thousand and one things that she wanted to say to him, things she hadn’t said earlier, things that were important and needed to be said, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the words died in her throat and all she managed to do was shake her head and sigh.

Nick, at least, seemed to understand that, his lips quirking up into the faintest hint of a grin. He reached behind him, lifting the back of his jacket and pulling out a pistol from a hidden holster. “Here,” he said, passing it to her. “Just in case.”

Wordlessly, she took it.

As she ran a finger along the black metal barrel of the gun, Nick gave up trying to put on a brave face. 

“You are not allowed to die, y’hear me, Rook. I don’t give a shit what side you’re on, you’re not going anywhere,” he said, his eyes flickering across her face. “I won’t lose you too.”

Eleanor smiled up at him as he leant down to brush a quick kiss against her hair. “I’ll try my best.”

Nick cleared his throat, trying desperately to fight off the rose pink blush that dusted his cheeks, “Good. Anyone but your friend Jacob walks through that door,” he said, nodding his chin towards the entry, “you shoot ‘em.”

Eyes shining with unshed tears, Eleanor nodded. 

He tipped his cap, shooting her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean it, El. Look after yourself, yeah?”

The words, lighthearted though they were meant to be, struck a chord and Eleanor had to bite her lip to keep from crying. 

“Thank you,” she said, because goodbye felt too painful.

And then he too was gone, and Eleanor was once more alone.

The only clock in the room was broken, its glass face shattered and the hands bent wrong, and Eleanor had no idea how long she sat on that couch waiting until she heard it - the unmistakable rumble of an approaching truck.

With a muffled grunt, she forced herself to her feet, shuffling across so that she could lean upright against one of the arms of the couch.

Keeping as still as she could, she listened for the sound of the car door slamming shut, dirt and rocks crunching under the tread of boots as they walked across the driveway. Two sets. Two people.

Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. While one hand clutched at the fabric of her shirt - keeping pressure on her reopened wound - the other reached for the gun Nick had left for her. As her fingers wrapped around the cool metal, her index finger resting alongside the trigger, she took a deep, calming breath.

Her heart thumped unsteadily in her chest, every beat echoing loudly in her ears. Jacob knew where to find her - they’d planned it that way. Nick and Kim had sworn up and down that they hadn’t been followed, nobody had seen them.

It had to be Jacob, but the windows of the cabin were boarded up - she couldn’t see for sure, a little traitorous voice in her ear whispered ‘ _what if it’s not?_ ’ and a familiar feeling of dread crept up her spine.

She swallowed uneasily, adjusting her grip on the gun as the doorknob twisted and the old wooden door swung open with a low groan.

Her breath caught in her chest - it wasn’t Jacob who stepped through the doorway.

It was her husband, his eyes wide as saucers, staring at her like she was a ghost. 

For a moment, time stopped.

Neither of them moved.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he breathed, his voice little more than a whisper. “Tell me this is real because I _can’t_ -” his voice broke, tears spilling silently down his cheeks. “I can’t-”

“It’s real,” she said, setting her gun down on the couch and taking a small, painful step towards him. 

That one step was enough to break whatever spell kept John frozen in place. With a shuddering gasp he leapt forward. Eleanor didn’t fight him as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly - so desperate to make sure that she was real. She didn’t fight him as his lips kissed every inch of skin they could find between breathless muttered praise and prayers. It hurt - her wounds were still fresh and John was not careful in his affection - half convinced that if he stopped for just a moment, she’d disappear entirely - but for the first time Eleanor didn’t care about the pain, not when John smiled through his tears, kissing her fiercely… reverently… lovingly. 

She’d welcome all the pain in the world for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you guys liked it! Let me know with some kudos or comments? Please? 💖


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